


Out of the Woods

by kittykatdennings94



Category: Captain America (Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Thor (Movies), Winter Soldier (Comics)
Genre: Violence, trigger warning: discussion of attempted rape
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-10-14
Updated: 2015-01-06
Packaged: 2018-02-21 03:50:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 6
Words: 17,312
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2453648
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kittykatdennings94/pseuds/kittykatdennings94
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Darcy Lewis wanted balance in her life; what she got was chaos, superfriends, an even more absentminded boss, and a SHIELD conspiracy with no conclusion in sight.</p><p>Triggers: this is actually serious at times, with discussions of attempted rape (not to be mentioned every chapter but is significant) as well as nonconsensual body alterations and mental disorders.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Sur les bois

**Author's Note:**

> NON BETA'D  
> inspired by the awesome stuff I see all the time on here

Paris was an accident.

  
A happy accident, but an accident nonetheless.

For Darcy, it meant dusting off her long unused French skills. She liked the vibe she got there- like everyone there knew that they weren’t the first people to stride through the city’s streets with purpose- that people of great importance had once lived and called Paris their home.

Okay, so maybe Darcy had watched “Midnight in Paris” a few too many times. (She liked Owen Wilson, what could she say?)

But living there was cool, in a way no other place had ever been.

Her hometown had been Blah-ville, Iowa, and Culver University had been less than awesome to her, and Puente Antigua was sort of a hotbed of emotional trauma that she wasn’t really willing to go into. London had kind of gotten wrecked by non-Legolas like elves, and that would have been okay, except Thor and Jane had gotten back together.

At first it had been genuinely wonderful- Thor was seriously the sweetest man _ever_ , like a golden retriever who was also the ancient god of thunder- oh, and a great boyfriend. Jane was glowing, smiling all the time as if she hadn’t wasted two years of her life moping over a man of all things. Darcy had never been one to judge- after all, she was nearing 24 and still far away from a college degree- but she had never understood Jane’s obsessiveness over Thor. Sure, he was her lover and probably she would be the queen of space one day, but did it mean abandoning the thing that made her special? Ignoring her life’s work because she missed a guy she’d known for all of 3 days?

Darcy Lewis did not know the answer to this, but she did have a couple of unanswered questions in her own life that required a bit of attention before she could focus on Jane’s issues.

Like, what to do when Ian Boothby wouldn’t understand that _“it was just a kiss, I’m sorry if you thought it meant more but it didn’t”_ was really code for “ _I’M NOT INTO YOU”._

So there was that.

There was also Erik- the poor man may not have needed institutionalizing, but he was seriously confused sometimes. Darcy hated to see him struggle with basic social nuances- Dr. Selvig had once been so capable, so in control of his mental abilities. It pained her to observe his slow deterioration- and his refusal to take medication for his anxiety or even his more pressing migraines was problematic. Jane didn’t really press him to change, so Erik didn’t feel obliged to listen to little old Intern Darcy.

Six months came and went- 2013 became 2014. SHIELD fell (so quickly that Thor couldn’t even help his friend in DC) and so went Darcy’s non-disclosure agreements. Everything became tense- the world was shifting, at least to Darcy.

Things came to a head one day when Darcy walked in on Jane and Thor cuddling on the sofa. It wasn’t the obvious awkwardness that led her to realize her time with Jane had come to an end-

It was something with the way Thor held Jane in his arms, like she was precious. Jane’s eyes were shut but somehow Darcy knew that she could _see_ what Thor’s face was doing- the way they were entwined touched something inside Darcy.

Up till then, her life was a caricature of something meaningful- like a bad 80s romcom that never really had a plot to begin with. She was a peripheral character, part of the exposition and never the climax.

  
She wanted what Jane had. She wanted more. And being an intern for the rest of her life was kind of setting herself up for some serious disappointment in the future- like a walking metaphor for the incompleteness that was her life.

And also, who waited till the age of 24 to get their shit together? Darcy Lewis was no one’s fool- time was a-wasting.

 

Change became necessary.   


So, Darcy rewrote her resume. Since the fall of SHIELD in the spring, she could talk about her major roles in what went down in New Mexico and London- she could use Asgardian Death-bots and Dark Elves as references for her CV and that was kind of awesome.

She gathered five or six reasonable applicants to replace her as Jane’s intern (Ian was _not_ one of the candidates) and quietly interviewed them- many were brilliant graduates from Oxford or Cambridge, and Darcy didn’t feel so guilty abandoning Jane after that.

It took maybe two weeks for her to wrap up her life.

The only remaining step was to decide where to go next. Darcy sent out her resume to non-profits all over Europe- all she needed was minimum wage to survive in a hostel.

The response wasn’t overwhelming but it didn’t exactly disappoint either. Darcy ended up interviewing for and choosing a position in France- an organization that fundraised in order to provide medication and food for countries affected by humanitarian crises around the world.

It wasn’t well paid by any means, but she appreciated the fact that the organization was small, and run entirely by young men and women of diverse backgrounds.

After she accepted the position, Darcy told Jane immediately that she was leaving. Her friend had resisted at first- claiming that she, Darcy, was needed- that she was invaluable to Jane’s work, that she was Jane’s best friend.

  
A few months ago, those excuses would have slammed into her gut like Mjolnir itself, but things had changed. Darcy used to believe that time was on her side, and she could make the tough choices later.

  
After seeing what happened in New York and later DC- after observing Erik’s breakdown upfront- she knew that sometimes, there wasn’t a later.

So she soldiered on, ignoring the guilt that niggled at her. Darcy packed her bags, made sure she had all her papers, and did her best not to cry when she said goodbye to her little life in London. Thor and Jane dropped her off at the train station, though the latter protested the entire ride there.

“Darcy! I feel like you’re just giving up on something special! I’m on the verge of so many discoveries- the tech from the Dark Elves’ ship alone has opened up so many avenues for my research-“

Thor cut in, gently; “Darcy, what my Jane wants to say is that she will truly miss you. Are you sure that you cannot continue your partnership with her? It hurts her heart to see you go- as it does mine. You are my shield-sister, and that means a great deal amongst my people.”

Darcy sighed, as tears threatened to fog her glasses.

“I know that it’s not the most expected thing from me, Jane, but I need to do this—for me. I’ve followed you halfway around the world because you needed me. You were alone. But now you have this big guy, and I can’t compete with him. I also can’t pretend to know about science shit anymore Jane- you know and I know that I am _firmly_ in the liberal arts category of smart.”

Jane didn’t respond, but lunged at Darcy, hugging her tightly.  
Sighing, Darcy put on a brave face.

“I’m going to miss you _so_ much. Don’t get drunk too much and cut down on the coffee, okay? And you can eat a vegetable sometimes too- poptarts do not replace vegetables in your diet.”

Jane harrumphed and wiped her eyes. “Sure, sure, I’ll be healthy. Promise!”

Thor hugged Darcy too tightly, and he handed her the lumpy duffel bag that contained her life. Too soon she was alone in her train compartment, nothing but her thoughts keeping her company. The gray London train station faded into blurred scenery, and for a second Darcy winced- she’d spent so much time in a country and had seen so little.

But the lure of travel and a new life lulled Darcy into a relaxed sleep, uninterrupted by her usual nightmares.

____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

  
The first thing Darcy realized was that in Paris, men were still obnoxious pricks. She hadn’t walked one block before someone had whistled loudly and shouted something about the “curve of her breasts” in less than romantic French. If it wasn't for Darcy’s experience with catcalls, she’d have gotten her taser out and ready real quick.

The casual misogyny pissed Darcy off, but she walked on, until she found the hostel she’d reserved a room in. It was small, nondescript, and incredibly inexpensive- which meant it was perfect for her.

Unfortunately, she had a roommate- the lovely desk manager said it was a gentleman around his 30s who was _tres beau_ \- Darcy ignored the gossip and only prayed that the man was used to putting the toilet seat back down after using it.

Trudging up the narrow stairs, Darcy eyed the door of her room.  A crooked number “9” hung precariously, causing her to hold her breath as she knocked on the door 3 times.

After a few moments of silence, Darcy used her new key to unlock the door- clearly her roommate was out.

Slightly relieved, she set down her duffel and backpack, stretching. It had been a long day, and she wanted nothing more than to lie down on one of the twin beds and fall asleep.

Darcy was ready to do just that, but she was held up because she had no idea which bed belonged to the handsome man.

Both were made neatly, with faded quilts folded at the foot of the bed. There were no bags or clothes or anything claiming either bed- which confused Darcy more than she cared to admit. She snooped around, peeking under the covers of the beds as well as behind the curtains.

There was no sign of any man living there, which was kind of troubling. What kind of neurotic roommate had she signed up for?

Unsure of what to do next, Darcy went to the bathroom, hoping to find a traditional standing toilet inside. Upon discovering the blessedly familiar throne, she peed, and then searched around for a bar of soap to wash her hands with. Darcy was relieved to find signs of life in the bathroom- a washcloth, some floss and toothpaste.

After washing up, Darcy could hear her stomach growling. Too tired to consider leaving the room, she snagged a forgotten Poptart from her backpack. It was slightly crumbled from being smushed under her laptop, but the familiar sweetness was soothing. It also brought on a wave of homesickness, sudden and overwhelming.

After almost 3 years being glued to Jane’s side, she was finally by her lonesome. So far she’d done alright, in her humble opinion.

With that comforting thought, Darcy mentally debated which bed she was going to crawl into. After failing to come to a decision, she grabbed a pillow from the bed and curled up in the chintz armchair by the window, grabbing her iPod as an afterthought.

With her sleepytime playlist on, Darcy first texted Jane of her safe arrival, and then dozed off.

It was pitch black in the room when she finally awakened. The street outside was busy with traffic and people shouting and blaring music- it was Friday night in Paris, of course, and there was a nightlife. Darcy rubbed her eyes and yawned until her ears popped.

Stretching, she groped around for the lamp on the night table near her, and switched it on.

“Shit!”

Asleep on the bed to the left was her mysterious roommate- facing the wall and away from her, tucked tightly in a blanket as well as the quilt. Darcy tried to catch her breath, while attempting not to wake up her new bedroom buddy.

Toeing off her shoes silently, she made her way to the bed on the right, moving her bags with her. In the dim rosiness of the lamp, Darcy groped for her pajamas and toiletry bag.

Once safely locked into the bathroom, she quickly brushed her teeth and washed her face. Undoing her hair from its travel-worn braid, Darcy did her best to detangle the riotous curls which had emerged around her face like tumbleweed. After attempting to wipe off her makeup, she undressed.

She made quick work of her restrictive bra, sighing in relief as the tension in her upper shoulders was relieved. Darcy was in her shorts and teeshirt quickly after that, and in bed even faster.

Glasses safely nestled on her bedside table, Darcy fell asleep as soon as her head touched the pillow.


	2. A Girl Named Darcy

** Interlude: A girl named Darcy. **

There were three opinions that people formed about Darcy Lewis when they did not know her well:

  1.        People thought Darcy was a lazy, unmotivated do-nothing with no marketable skills.
  2.        People assumed that because Darcy had a limited understanding of the astrophysics that dominated her daily life, she was an idiot.
  3.        People also assumed that because Darcy had tits the size of Jupiter, she was a slut.



The truth was, Darcy worked _hard_ for where she was in life. She may have attended the picturesque, beautiful Culver university, but she’d had to work 2 jobs her senior year AND maintain her 3.9 GPA in order to earn a partial scholarship to the prestigious school. At Culver, she may have jumped around in her majors, but she never, ever made less than a B plus in her classes. It was a matter of personal pride, and a mark of her work ethic. She expected a great deal of herself.

As for opinion number two: Darcy may not have been an astrophysicist, but she was damn good with computers and tinkering with mainframes and other gadgets that Jane fiddled around with.

She was also good with calculus and trigonometry, which meant that she could help Jane with calculations, so long as she wasn’t expected to draw actual scientific findings out of them.

And beyond doing math and repairs, Darcy organized Jane’s research; from basic color coding to categorizing and sorting, she was able to utilize her boss’ years’ worth of work more efficiently.

Of course, there was also the fact that Darcy was _always_ up to date on current affairs in the domestic and international business markets, as well as the running of bureaucracy. It wasn’t exactly useful knowledge.

People still wondered what use Darcy could be to Jane, but they never guessed the truth- that Jane didn’t need Darcy, but Darcy definitely needed Jane.

They were colleagues, yes- Darcy absolutely respected Jane and her work and her drive in a field dominated by testosterone infected men.

They were friends, of course, because who wouldn’t become friends after running over and tasing a god of thunder?

And they were also sisters, because Jane had done for Darcy what no one else had: she believed her.

But to start from the beginning, Darcy worked with Jane because she didn’t want to be at Culver any longer.

This tied in with the third assumption: that Darcy Lewis was a slut.

Even when she was as young as 12, people would see her wide hips and ample chest and decide that she was just asking for the male attention that she attracted. The truth was obvious to anyone willing to look at it; to hide her figure, Darcy wore sweatshirts and oversized men’s shirts.

She even went so far as to avoid wearing bright makeup or doing her hair, if it meant that people wouldn’t think she was promiscuous.

  
By the time Darcy was 18 and at Culver for her fall semester, she realized that nothing- not the attention, not the catcalling- none of it was her own fault. And that revelation freed her, which meant that she felt more comfortable wearing tight shirts and shorter skirts to frat parties.

Red lipstick became her trademark accessory- even after an all-night study session, Darcy was known for the bright red smile that begged for people to grin back at her.

In her junior year, Darcy was on major number 3- Political Science, finally settling down. Her grades were good, she had an internship in DC lined up, and she was making money on the side working as a barista at a campus coffeeshop.

Things were okay-

And then they weren’t.

 

It was one of those blustering November evenings, when the wind bit at the cheeks of any soul misfortunate enough to be outdoors. The sky was a dark gray, and pale, sickly light shined only from lamps that sparsely lined the sidewalk.

Darcy trudged to her dorm from the library, shouldering a backpack full of required court cases for a paper due in approximately 12 hours.

The campus seemed emptier than usual, though Darcy didn’t notice. She was listening to her favorite playlist, “Songs that sound like autumn”, and ignoring the world around her.

She turned into the parking lot of her residence hall, scuffing her worn boots on the asphalt as she crossed the street. 

The music blasting from her headphones masked the sound of footsteps behind her; so when Darcy finally reached the glass door to the building, she was shocked at the reflected sight of a figure standing right behind her.

In her surprise the man was able to wrestle her backpack off her- struggling to get free, Darcy kicked out as hard as she could. She missed; the man was strong and tall. His arms wrapped around her chest like vices, hard and unforgivingly painful.

She wasn’t sure if she’d screamed-

Darcy couldn’t remember anything she’d said or heard the man say that night.

  
All she knew was that it really, really, really hurt when he slapped her face and dragged her to an isolated part of the parking lot, and shoved her into the backseat of an idling sedan.

If anyone asked Darcy what had happened after that, she wouldn’t have been able to tell them.

Not that she couldn’t remember- that the man had unzipped her parka and used a knife of some kind to cut open her sweater, as well as the teeshirt she wore beneath it. She just didn’t have the _words._

 

But Darcy recalled the way the frigid air had hit her, rendering her motionless and freezing.

 

She could feel the fear that had trickled down her spine like ice water when alien scissors cut her beige bra open down the front, exposing her breasts.

 

And those hands had insidiously crept near the waistband of her pants, sneaking into her-

 

But suddenly the invading fingers had vanished, and all that was left was blind panic.

 

She just couldn’t talk about it.

 

Later, the police told her that one of her neighboring suitemates, Scott, had been getting ready to go out for a jog when he’d seen the strange car- and the discarded pink jacket that was obviously Darcy’s lay on the ground next to it. He’d tackled the attacker, slamming the man’s head against the concrete and knocking him out. Scott had been on the rugby team for Culver, winning them a championship trophy a year ago.

Darcy didn’t know what to do after that- as the police told her that she was ”lucky” to have escaped unscathed, all she could think of was the horrifying sensation of hands that did not belong, groping her, squeezing her, making their way inside of her.

It was like an out of body experience, except it had been her body and she had been there- she just couldn’t quite connect herself to the idea of it yet.

The attacker had a name- he was a senior at Culver, with a record for being rough with girls.

She’d danced with him once, at a party where both parties were a little inebriated and a lot uninhibited. Nothing had happened, of course, so Darcy forgot about it.

But he hadn’t forgotten about it.

He told campus security that she’d fucked him at the party, after the party, for weeks afterward.

That she begged for it.

That she loved it.

No one believed him really- there was no proof.

But no one wanted to stir up trouble with the star athlete and his legacy daddy.

Darcy wanted him in jail, off campus, and out of her life.

The dean had other ideas; he was a ”promising” young man, with a bright future, and his father donated millions to the university every year, and surely she didn’t want to ruin someone’s life just because they’d made a mistake?

Darcy refused to stay at Culver after that.

Jane’s internship was advertised in the University newspaper- upon reading the words New Mexico, she got out her cell phone and dialed the number.

Ten minutes later, Darcy had booked a one way ticket to New Mexico.

She had come a long way from the frightened girl running away from her past traumas. Jane may have lacked basic nutritional information, but she was brilliant at getting Darcy to spill her guts out to her.

She had only been in Puente Antigua for two weeks when the little scientist wrangled the story out of her, and when she started she just hadn’t been able to stop. Darcy had never truly told anyone what happened that day- and Jane had listened so well.

She never stopped her, never judged or sympathized her. She didn’t ask her what she had been wearing, or whether or not she’d been asking for it. Her only comment had been to utter a disgusted “motherfucker” at the end of Darcy’s tale.

It had felt a lot like benediction, a lot like friendship.

That was why Darcy hated leaving Jane; they had bonded deeply over the years.

Thor’s arrival had changed things, though. A

s much as she loved the thunder god, she was sometimes scared of him. His arms were huge, and in the night when she ran into him in the small hallway of Jane’s London flat, Darcy forgot who he was. All she could remember were the arms holding her down in a car (the man had been a baseball player or something like that) she didn’t want to be in.

Thor never asked her what was wrong when she cringed and shied away from him, but Darcy knew that the guy was a millennia old, and he’d probably seen some seriously messed up shit.

That was why she also hated leaving Thor.

But it had been necessary- she felt unsafe near him. Thor attracted trouble like no one she’d ever known before, and her sanity was contingent on getting away from apocalyptic alien invasions.

 

And even now, in the hostel, she felt a twinge of nervousness.

The man in the bed next to her was a stranger of the utmost degree- she didn’t even know his name. He seemed average sized, wrapped up in a blanket burrito that rivaled her own best attempts.

But she’d trusted her instincts, which told her that nothing was going to happen, and booked the room.

Around 5 AM the next morning, Darcy stirred at the sound of rustling. Forgetful of her surroundings, she sat straight up in bed and flailed around searching for her glasses. Upon jamming them onto her nose, she carefully peered around the room, finding her bearings.

Her roomie was sitting on his bed, which was neatly made (who did that?!), tying his shoes.

  
Darcy weakly waved, attempting to focus her still sleep smeared vision on the man’s face.

 

She wasn’t fast enough unfortunately. The man was dressed in sweats from head to toe, clearly about to go for a jog. As he locked the door behind him (how considerate!) Darcy shrugged, and resigned herself to meeting the dude some other time. Perhaps at a more human hour, she thought to herself.

Snuggling into the covers, Darcy fell back asleep immediately, glasses already smushed into her cheek.


	3. She works hard for the money

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Setup for a bigger, heftier chapter to come!

The first day of a new job was nothing like the first day of school. Darcy had learned that the first time she’d tied an apron around her waist and realized that she _wasn’t_ about to embark on a life changing journey (though she did learn how to make a leaf pattern in latte froth, so she did gain something from barista-ing).

She seriously questioned her decision making skills at times like that morning- Two days after moving from London to Paris, a Monday, a horrible day to start work. It was still dark, and Darcy had woken up from a nightmare to the sound of her phone’s tinny alarm.

Her mouth was lined with crusty spit and her hair felt like it had braided itself in the night- the situation would have been less desperate if Darcy didn’t have a new male roommate.

Said roommate was difficult to pin down though, which wasn’t necessarily a bad thing for Darcy. She was able to unpack as slowly as she wanted, despite the limited number of items she’d actually brought with her. Each book, every bracelet had a memory. That was how she spent her first day in Paris; reminiscing and being mopey, interrupted only by pee breaks and an abortive attempt to order a pizza which ended up being some kind of fish pastry. It was a testament to her commitment to enjoying herself in the city of lights that Darcy didn’t move back to an English speaking country right then and there.

She ate it, though, and marginally enjoyed parts of it. She mostly enjoyed tossing it out and going downstairs to buy a chocolate croissant from a street vendor- that was amaze-balls, and totally going to destroy her waistline in under a month.

Her joy was gone by the next morning, as she peeled herself out of bed. The roomie was nowhere to be seen (thank Thor). Outfit already hanging on the coat-stand, Darcy simply dragged herself into the ancient shower and prayed for hot water. The shower deities didn’t fail to deliver, and so Darcy was able wake up in a steamy water closet rather than an icy blizzard.

She brushed her teeth while in the shower (childhood habit) and shaved her legs absentmindedly, only being careful once she’d nicked her knee.

That accomplished, Darcy returned to the bedroom wrapped in a towel, and commenced getting dressed. The outfit itself was standard; charcoal grey pencil skirt, paired with a sky blue blouse and black pumps. It was serviceably pleasant, but not exactly a Lewis-approved look. Darcy shimmied into a pair of sheer tights, as well as her skirt. She fastened her most supportive bra (the color of dead mice, of course) and set to work on her face in front of the tiny mirror the room had come with.

Her once customary red lips were now reserved for special occasions, so she opted for a berry lip stain instead. Then she began her most important makeup task: the perfect winged eyeliner.

Darcy was never a proud woman, but she was damned if she didn’t have a complete mastery of liquid eyeliner by the time she was 18 years old. She attributed at least 60% of her confidence to that skill, considering how rare it was to find a girl who could have perfectly lined eyes 98.9% of the time.

That morning was one of the 1.1% of times, when things went wrong and q-tips were desperately used with spit to wipe off errant specks of black. Darcy was fluently cursing aloud when the door unlocked, to reveal her absentee roommate- all 6 feet something of him.

Conscious of her state of undress, Darcy didn’t turn around from her makeshift vanity table.

Instead, she cheerily asked, "Bonjour! Parlez-vous français? Je m’appelle Darcy!”

She didn’t expect any overtures of friendship right off the bat, but the stony silence she received in response was unnerving.

“Hey! Je parle de vous!” Struggling, Darcy attempted to remember her bits and pieces of American Sign Language, interrupted only by a quiet laugh from the stranger.

“I’m sorry? Did I do something funny?”

The roommate- who had shaggy brown hair that fell over his eyes- shook his head, and sat down on the squashy armchair by the window.

“It’s just funny. I came to France to get away from America.”

Darcy had to smile at that. “I know what you mean. I left home in New Mexico to get away from death and destruction- literally. But London was even more crazy and apocalyptic. That’s life, though.”

The stranger raised an eyebrow and Darcy became cognizant of her ugly mouse colored bra again. She grabbed her blouse from the hanger as nonchalantly as she could, slipping it on and buttoning it up.

The man was sizing her up, but at least he wasn’t pretending not to. He seemed honest enough, though something about him was kind of twitchy. He kept glancing about, but Darcy ignored the paranoid voice in her head and instead began to brush her hair.

“So, you never told me your name.”

“I told you, my name is Darcy! Any and all jokes you would like to make about my name can be submitted to my P.O. Box at home in Iowa.”

The dude laughed a little louder at that, and ran a hand through his hair. Darcy finished putting her hair up and slipped into her commute boots (the heels were in her bookbag).

She glanced at him again, asking “what’s your name, anyways?”

He answered after a beat- “Jack Brown”- and then made an excuse and went to the bathroom. Darcy heard the faucet turn on, and tried to reassure herself that she wasn’t sharing a room with a psycho (albeit a super cute one). She couldn’t ponder for too long, and hurriedly grabbed her coat.

Checking her phone, Darcy stopped. It was 76 degrees Fahrenheit outside-chilly for August, yet still far too hot for her coat- too hot for her roommate to be wearing a hoodie and gloves for what she presumed was a morning run.

\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Work was work.

The name of the nonprofit was pretty sweet: in French, “Nos enfants, notre avenir”, which roughly translated to “Our children, Our Future”.

Darcy was given a short tour, introductions were made with the 10 other employees, and then she was put to work helping organize the fundraising events to be held during the next quarter.

Darcy felt free to give suggestions and criticize- thankfully, it was a requirement that all employees have a comfortable handle on English, so there was no language barrier to speak of.

Her co-workers were pleasant, harried young people from all backgrounds- German, Algerian, native French, and even a Japanese woman. The work itself was exciting, and completely in Darcy’s wheelhouse, so she was able to contribute a great deal to the planning process.

Over a simple lunch of soup from the corner deli, Darcy sat down with two of her female co-workers, Angela from Berlin and Eloise from Nice. They were friendly women, both in their early thirties and unmarried.

  
Darcy didn’t give too much of her background, but she was able to answer all their questions without seeming rude.

She had no plans to make work friendships (she’d learned that the hard way) but the ladies were incredibly warm, and before she knew it they had made plans to go to a discotheque that Friday night.

By 3 PM Darcy was on the phone and her laptop helping set up a fundraising luncheon in Dubai, where a bunch of the organization’s bigwig donors vacationed during the winter months.

She hadn’t realized at the time of her hiring, but Darcy’s job required a fair bit of traveling for the non-profit’s events. Normally a CEO would handle that kind of publicity, but N.E.N.A. was very much a nascent organization and lacking key positions like that.

When Theo, the manager of the France HQ for N.E.N.A. asked for volunteers to help with the winter fundraisers, Darcy’s hand was the first one up. Unfortunately, those jobs were given to two of the oldest employees, Eloise and a man named Claude.

Swallowing her disappointment, Darcy returned to her cubicle after the meeting and turned her laptop back on.

A tap on her shoulder made her flinch; it was only Theo.

  
“Darcy, it is not the skill of your work which prevents me from selecting you for those positions.” (Theo had a very odd, very French way of speaking English, which was one of the reasons why he wasn’t the face of the non-profit).

“Sir, I completely understand- it’s literally my first day on the job, I shouldn’t have expected-“

“Non, Darcy, do not misunderstand me! I have another event in mind for you, one that is much sooner! In October, there will be a lunch gala for, how you say? Un église?”

Darcy racked her brain and blurted out, “A church!”

“Oui! A church in Los Angeles! It has been funding multiple orphanages in the area for decades, so many non-profits will be there to collect funds for them! It is a worthy cause, and I wanted to make sure someone who was American was in charge! Americans are very different from us Europeans!”

Darcy ignored the weak jab and grinned. “Thank you SO much, Theo- I promise I won’t mess this up!”

“Oh, I believe you! I saw your CV- you have much experience with, what do I call them? Disastrous situations.”

“Jack” wasn’t around when Darcy got home from work, which was perhaps for the best. For the past 4 years, Darcy had gotten used to Jane’s “maximum work, minimum people” work environment.

Her new job was all people, all the time- which was definitely Darcy’s thing, but habits were hard to break.

Still, she didn’t hesitate to toe off her walking boots and dial Jane’s number as soon as she entered the room.

Instead of a cranky Jane, a cheerful and vaguely foreign male voice boomed from the phone’s speakers.

“Hey Thor! How’s it going?!”

Darcy swore she could hear Thor smiling as he replied in the only way he could: enthusiastically.

“Lady Darcy, I am still quiet sad about your departure. It is far too quiet for Jane and I in the evening hours.”

“Aw buddy, it’ll be okay! You’ll find someone to replace me soon! Maybe a chocolate lab, or even a poodle!”

Darcy chatted with Thor for another ten minutes, and promised him that he could visit for Thanksgiving (he was desperate for a reason to feast), or that she’d go to them when the time came.

Happy despite her exhaustion, she plugged her iPod into its speakers and turned on her “Good Day” playlist. Bopping around, she quickly took off and hung up her suit.

The minute she had her leggings and plaid shirt on, Darcy decided to go out and celebrate. It was an auspicious start, and it deserved a good plate of spaghetti and a glass of wine.

She managed to find a bistro two blocks from her hostel, with some decent reviews on a tourist’s version of Yelp.

The air was warm and her hair was finally down after a day in a chignon. A guitarist was busking near the bistro, so her spaghetti Bolognese felt even more fancy than usual.

Darcy didn’t indulge too much, though, conscious of the fact that it was already way past 7 o’clock and she had work the next morning.

She stopped by a small grocers she’d seen on her way to the bistro, buying a small carton of eggs, bread, cereal, and a pint of milk. She wasn’t exactly stocking a gourmet kitchen, but Darcy did want homemade food from time to time.

By the time she had returned, labeled, and stocked her food supplies on her shelf in the fridge, her roommate was also back. It was barely 8:30 PM, and he was already in bed, wrapped in a blanket burrito and snoring.

Darcy chose to ignore the oddness once again, deciding to follow his suit and also go to bed. But first, she booted up her laptop and checked her email, her Facebook, her twitter. Her phone was still charging so she’d left it untouched.

By the time she had watched two useless videos on Youtube, it was 9:45 and she really did need to get to bed.

Before she turned off her lamp, she decided that she was going to go for a run the next morning.

**A/N**

**I’ve been SUPREMELY BUSY the past few weeks, and barely had time jot out this little chapter. I promise more later this week!**  
 **Read, review, love!**


	4. I bleed when I fall down

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HI! So the italics in the first half of the chapter belong to the Asset- three guesses who I mean by that :p  
> and the italics at the end of the chapter are just Darcy's argumentative thoughts  
> enjoy boos!

**I had the hardest time formulating natural sounding dialogue and a scenario that would lead to my desired end result. I hope you lovely people like it, and review if you think it deserves it!**

**Xo: Author**

Mornings were _his_ time. An internal clock he didn’t remember setting woke him before dawn every day, without fail.

_4:37 AM. The asset was alert instantly, evaluating its surroundings for danger._

_All is unchanged._

The streets below were still quiet, though a part of him was pleased, knowing that all over Paris, bread was being baked in the patisseries for commuters and grocery shoppers to purchase.

_The asset could sense the urge for fuel. Its dietary needs had to be met before it could carry on with the day’s mission._

The pale gray of the sky was special to him as well; the moon was departing and the sun had yet to take its place. It was an in-between period of time that he relished.

_The hour was early enough that the asset could train outdoors without fear of detection by enemies. The asset was accustomed to solitude, and led to optimal performance._

As the faded night sky began to tinge with the color of peaches and oranges, Jack would put on his running clothes and tie on his sneakers.

_Nondescript black clothing was all the asset wore- anything to avoid attracting attention. Beneath the asset’s clothing was an assortment of easily concealed weaponry._

Glancing at the room behind him, he locked the door and made his way down the rickety stairs and out onto the road.

_Before exiting its accommodations, the asset would secure all compromising items. It would also leave behind small traps that would be triggered, if the room were to be infiltrated._

Establishing an easy pace, his mind would wander as he jogged the streets of Paris.

Sometimes Jack would count his steps, playing a human pedometer. Other times, he would imagine things from his memories, conjuring up faces and events he could scarcely recall.

_The asset had ceased to maintain contact with its handler. The training was due to habit, nothing more. It did not return to the cryochamber for stasis, nor did it have a designation. There was no current mission assigned, thus the asset did not leave its location._

Jack turned a corner, easily speeding up as more pedestrians began to traverse the city streets.

The sound of rapid fire French was soothing to his ears, as he felt no need to converse in his daily life. Jack was content to simply listen.

_Fluency in French was a must for Red Room graduates, and Soviet assassins, and HYDRA assets. The asset could understand and comprehend every word of French spoken around him- it stored valuable information without analyzing it._

_The asset’s name was James Buchanan Barnes, for example._

_It had been a he, who had fought in a war and had lived in America._

_There had been a man, once. A friend to the asset. He had met him a year before, on a bridge, and after on an airship._

Jack didn’t like to think about his past.

Too much of it painful, so he blocked it out. Living in the present was all that mattered.

He could enjoy his quiet moments, his morning jogs and the cups of coffee that followed.

_The asset was no longer an asset, as there was no longer a purpose for it to fulfill._

As he returned home, Jack studiously avoided meeting the gaze of any of his fellow hostel inhabitants.

The woman who ran the hostel only saw him on rent day, which he always paid for in cash.

It was nothing personal, he just didn’t see a need to get close to someone like that.

_The asset had an amount of currency that could ensure independent living for over five years. There were numerous safe houses around the European continent that could restock the supply, should the need ever arise._

Jack knew he wasn’t good with strangers. He had some anxiety issues he was working through, so he tried to keep mostly to himself. It was sometimes lonesome, but also worth it. He never wanted to make someone uncomfortable; especially a friend.

_The asset, lacking a mission, was no longer in commission. It was no longer in service to the United States Army, or the KGB, or Hydra._

_The asset was free to do as it wished._

Was he drifting in life?

But he was coming to terms with some really messed up stuff, and that meant giving himself time.

He could afford to give himself a little time.

Jack had lived in the hostel since the summer of 2014. He had left Washington DC after his last job went up in flames.

He’d nearly drowned in all the office drama, anyways, and Jack did _not_ do drama.

He preferred a bohemian lifestyle, and where better to pursue that then the city d’amour itself?

So he packed his bags (he didn’t have a lot) and left town.

He’d kept to himself once he arrived in Paris.

Aforementioned anxiety and not so great memories meant that new relationships were highly undesirable, so Jack kind of just chilled. He had enough trust fund money to not need to work (he was privileged and he was aware) so he did all the touristy stuff.

The Louvre was stunning, the Bastille was awesome, Versailles was _blah blah blah._

(Okay, so he wasn’t as into Paris as he might have been)

But Jack didn’t think he could leave. He didn’t feel safe enough to be making any important decisions in his life, so coasting seemed to be his best option.

He dabbled in stuff to pass the time; consulting jobs for advertising firms (he had an art degree from the NYU), sculpting lessons for the elderly at the local community center (he’d picked it up between jobs in his early 20s).

Jack even got back into his own paintings- wild, abstract colors with bold defined lines, a style he was enamored with but not sure what to call.

All the free time also meant that he could stop worrying about what people thought of his left arm.

He hated being asked about it, and shied away from answering questions as best as he could. At his old job, people always wanted to know, “how did it go?” “does it hurt?” “do you get used to the metal?”

It was a relief to be left _alone._

Jack liked his solitude.

He got used to his private hostel room despite the desk lady’s warning that “ze room could fill at any time!”

Thus, it was a great shock for him to come home one evening, to find a strange woman sleeping in the armchair by the window.

_The asset immediately assumed a defensive stance, drawing its pistol and aiming it directly at the intruder’s forehead._

_A quick appraisal of the room told the asset everything it needed to know._

_It replaced its weapon to its hidden location beneath its clothing, and proceeded as usual with the evening routine._

Jack was a mostly straight man, and his first thought at the sight of his new roommate was “She’s fucking hot!”

Mildly ashamed of his perviness, Jack went about his usual nighttime tasks- mostly involving reading newspapers and business magazines, an old habit from his previous job that had stuck.

He went downstairs around 7 for a quick bite to eat (probably a sandwich) and then some TV in the common lounge where no one ever actually hung out. After that, he returned to his room.

The girl was still out cold, snoring slightly.

Jack couldn’t help but laugh at his new roomie’s appearance- she had a weirdly misshapen purple beanie jammed on her head, and mismatched knee socks peeked out from the tops of her riding boots. Her sweater was the definition of oversize, with a picture of an owl with a mustache.

He moved her bags to her side of the room, throwing away an errant wrapper that had been dropped on the ground near the bed. Jack worried that the girl was a slob momentarily, before sighing and heading into the bathroom.

Soon he was in bed, wrapped in a comforter and quilt.

It wasn’t usual for a man of 30 to swaddle himself so thoroughly in blankets, but Jack had an aversion to the cold that verged on phobic.

_The asset left the room far before dawn, to avoid a meeting with the new boarder._

_It did not return to its lodging until after midnight- ensuring the woman was asleep._

Jack couldn’t avoid the new girl forever. He came back from his run two days after her arrival to find her half-dressed, cussing to herself in front of a mirror propped up against an open laptop.

Ignoring her exposed (amazing) upper torso, Jack tried to formulate an appropriate greeting.

_The asset lacked parameters within which to operate when interacting with the strange woman._

The woman spoke up first, thankfully. "Bonjour! Parlez-vous français? Je m’appelle Darcy!”

Jack attempted to find the words to return the greeting, but the French escaped him and he could feel his mouth drying up with panic.

Scowling, the girl angrily spat out, “Hey! Je parle de vous!”

  
 Jack was still struggling to figure out what to do next (had he talked to anyone beyond formalities at all in the past 6 months?)

_The asset must respond to avoid arousing suspicion._

Incapable of a normal reaction, Jack laughed.

The girl- Darcy’s stance immediately shifted from relaxed to defensive, and she forgot to use her carefully practiced French (Jack could hear the American accent a mile off).

“I’m sorry? Did I do something funny?”

_Asset must maintain its cover._

“It’s just funny. I came to France to get away from America.” Jack was glad he could come up with something mildly acceptable as an answer, though he was mortified over his mild panic attack.

Darcy grinned wryly, and Jack could feel his stomach flip a bit. Half dressed in a pencil skirt and brassiere, Jack found the woman incredibly attractive.

He hadn’t known what his type was up till then, but Darcy was most definitely it. It was too bad he was in no way mentally fit enough for a relationship.

 “I know what you mean. I left home in New Mexico to get away from death and destruction- literally. But London was even more crazy and apocalyptic. That’s life, though.”

Jack was a little surprised at her reply, but chose to ignore her oddness.

He watched as she attempted to stealthily grab her blouse and button it up. The sky blue matched her eyes, he realized, and then he shook his head in an attempt to clear the dangerous thought from his mind.

Jack tried to change the subject and claimed, “So, you never told me your name.”

_The asset immediately identified the individual as Darcy Lewis of Des Moines, Iowa, USA, former intern to a Hydra targeted astrophysicist._

_The woman was of negligible threat level._

_Extra defense protocols need not continue._

“I told you, my name is Darcy! Any and all jokes you would like to make about my name can be submitted to my P.O. Box at home in Iowa.”

Jack smiled, though when she asked his name, he faltered.

He hadn’t been asked that question in what felt like years- which was a shock.

_Asset must recall its cover-_

“Jack Brown”.

Darcy looked skeptical, but Jack had already escaped to the bathroom.

Slightly out of breath, he tried to calm his heart rate.   
(No, there’s no need to have a panic attack)

(I’m safe.)

(She’s harmless.)

After toeing off his sneakers, Jack peeled off his sweat soaked hoodie and running pants. As per habit, he left his gloves for last (they kept people from staring).

He noticed that Darcy hadn’t asked any questions about his strange appearance- August in Paris was usually sweltering, and there he was dressed for a cold winter day.

It gave him hope- maybe she was sensitive enough to leave him well enough alone about his private life.

He could handle having a roommate like that.

_The asset has found the intruder to be acceptable. She is to remain under the asset’s observation, and by the asset’s preference, will be under its protection._

* * *

 

Darcy got used to her new life pretty quick.

Her job was fast paced and challenging, and the people were cool enough that by week one she had two new girlfriends to hang out with on the weekends and during work lunches.

There was also hope for her hostel mates- though the roomie was still charmingly aloof, she was finding clues about him that were assuaging her early serial killer related fears.

Clue 1: He had long hair that he tied up with a scrunch that had seen better days.

(She left a few of hers on his bed and saw they were gone the next morning)

Clue 2: Jack was an artist of some kind.

(One night Darcy saw a smear of light blue paint right at the juncture where his jawline and neck met- which was a little too erotic for Darcy’s comfort)

Clue 3: He was a fitness fiend.

(He ran like a maniac. One morning she’d gotten up to pee and had seen him stretching in front of their building. One word to describe Jack- _limber_ )

So Darcy was doing better on that front. He was an American bro with some issues, but still harmless. Her alarm bells had stopped ringing after day one, although she never really let herself relax around him 100% (but she never did that with guys anymore, so it was nothing special).

Overall, she was doing okay. There was a fresh fruit vendor down the street who tossed a ripe peach at her every morning on her way to work, which made her feel very Belle a la _Beauty and the Beast._

Things were doing well. Jane had thrown a curveball at her, though, when she called one night to break the news that she’d accepted a position at Stark Industries in New York City. She and Thor were leaving London immediately, and barely had time to pack.

Darcy could scarcely protest for fear of being a hypocrite, so she faked happiness for her friend. Despite her sadness at the new distance between them, she was proud of Jane and how far she had come.

It was good for her, in the long run. Jane leaving was like the final push she needed to find self-reliance.

She wasn’t great at being an adult yet, but she was learning.

* * *

 

_Three Weeks Later:_

Darcy and Eloise were eating lunch at a bistro across the street from N.E.N.A. HQ and lamenting the end of summer.

“Where was my tan this year?! I thought I was supposed to get tan here, but I never have time to go outdoors- yuck!”

Darcy laughed at Eloise. They’d gotten very close since she’d started working, so she wasn’t afraid of making fun of her.

“That’s insensitive Eloise, and you know it. You, bitching about a tan?! The universe gifted you with perfect skin the color of… um… ah….”

“Nutmeg?! Cinnamon?! What clichéd food item is my skin color now Darce?!”

The women broke down laughing, and Darcy stuck her tongue out at Eloise.

“Whatever. I have skin the color of parmesan cheese, and I have never had a tan in my life, and like I said, it’s insensitive!”

“You have skin like a pearl Darcy, stop complaining you idiot.”

Darcy blushed and took a sip of her wine, blessing the French society for its early drinking hours. Eloise was staring into space, facing the street, when she suddenly grabbed Darcy’s arm and squealed.

“Look! Look, there’s the hot guy who’s been jogging by our building every morning! Isn’t he a… what is the word, stud?!”

Darcy looked, and was dumbfounded at the sight of her roommate Jack- skin browned by the sun, hair glistening with sweat. He wore his customary sweats (she had chalked that up to his other unnamed issues) and glove on the left hand, but he looked… focused. He kept glancing their way but not in their direction. Her insides turned slightly as the wine protested in her stomach, and she pushed back from the table and ran to the bathroom to throw up her lunch.

Eloise came after her and insisted they go back to the office to give her some aspirin. Trying to be subtle, Darcy asked Eloise more questions about Jack’s daily runs.

As it turned out, he’d been jogging on that route ever since Darcy had started working for N.E.N.A.- a coincidence she was very troubled by.

* * *

 

That evening as she undressed, Darcy tried to understand her episode at lunch. It was completely irrational to suspect Jack of anything untoward, yet something in her brain was screaming “STALKER!”

It was way too unsettling for her to sleep, so Darcy cracked open her laptop and stayed up watching reruns of “The Nanny” to soothe her frayed nerves.

Around 1 AM, shuffling noises outside the door alerted Darcy to her roommate’s return. She contemplated faking sleep, but gathered her courage enough to stay right as she was. Jack walked in, headphones dangling around his neck. He seemed surprised to see her but nodded in greeting. Wasting no time for small talk, he grabbed his jammies and went to the washroom. Darcy sat up in bed and worried her lip in her teeth.

Jack returned from the bathroom dressed in his usual sweat pants, Henley shirt combo. He smiled at Darcy nervously, and got into bed as well.

She watched him bundle himself into his trademark blanket burrito, and wondered for the trillionth time what exactly was up with the guy.

She bit the bullet after a few more awkward moments, blurting out “My coworker says you run outside our building every morning.”

Jack paused mid-blanket tucking, blankly staring at her.

Darcy pressed on, continuing “She says that she’s seen you every day for almost a month during her smoke break- in fact, she said that it lined up pretty evenly with my first day of work and onwards.”

Jack shut his eyes tightly and clenched his right hand- his left hand was hidden beneath the covers.

“Jack? Listen, this isn’t an accusation- yet. I’m just curious, because it’s a weird coincidence.”

He shook his head, and exhaled slowly.

Jack seemed deeply disturbed, confirming Darcy’s worst fears.

“I- I didn’t think something like this would happen here. Shit. Shit, shit, shit!”

“No! Darcy, no, that isn’t it at all! I’m not stalking you… I just. I don’t know how to explain it without sounding creepy-“

“Try me, Jack!”

“I worried! Okay? I worried about you, for whatever reason, and I just feel better if I check in on you around that time, and in the afternoon around 4.”

Darcy’s jaw dropped as Jack hurriedly continued.

“I can’t figure it out for myself- all I know is that I feel extremely anxious and strung out unless I know you’re okay! I have issues like that- I just get stressed and worried about things and people around me and I have to make sure things go okay, or else everything goes to fuckall!”

Darcy was about to retort when Jack buried his face in his hands and began to shake.

She clambered out of bed and grabbed her half drunk water bottle from her work bag, handing it to him.

Jack twisted the cap off desperately- with his _metal_ left hand, and gulped the water down in one go.

A niggling suspicious seed was planted in Darcy’s head at that moment, but she placed it aside for the moment to help her roommate.

Gently, she sat next to him on his bed, and took his hand.

“Are you okay? I’m not mad- right now.”

Jack shook his head again and raked his hand through his hair.

“I swear- I’m not stalking you. Something… something makes me want to ensure your safety.”

“That sounds a little Twilight-esque to me dude. It’s creepy regardless.”

“No! That came out wrong… It’s just… I was programmed a certain way in my old… job. I had to act a certain way, and my family and friends were in danger at times. I got used to watching out for them extra.”

Darcy wanted to chew Jack up and spit him out for his incredibly inappropriate behavior, but something about his panic attack and pure fear struck her as honest.  
“Okay. Okay, it’s okay. We’ll set some ground rules later on, but for now it’s okay. Why don’t you lie down, and I’ll turn off this bright light- there, much better.”

She got Jack to lie back down and helped him with his burrito- for a man so large and muscular, she could feel his body’s tremors like an earthquake.

Darcy climbed back into her own bed and grabbed her discarded laptop. Jack was asleep in five minutes flat, clearly exhausted from his earlier freak-out.

That left Darcy with her thoughts.

Normally, she hated being alone in a room with a man.

She’d made an exception with Jack because she didn’t have that initial panic at seeing him- the usual panic she experienced with men she loved, like Thor and Erik.

But he’d bypassed her and violated a boundary she didn’t even known she’d have to make.

It was strange- he was genuinely afraid of something, and that made her wonder about his mysterious circumstances. Who was Jack Brown?

She was convinced it was a fake name, and whatever he was doing in Paris was subterfuge for something deeper- perhaps sinister.

The thought led her to some serious hacking and googling. She had finagled out of him that he’d come to France from Washington DC and was able to hack into the city’s public records- there was no listing of Jack Brown, or any variation of that name.

She was also able to access an old program Jane had tinkered with a few months before they’d left the US that let her scan public health records for people’s private information. Jane had gotten it from a shady Rising Tide hacker, and then had passed it on to Darcy when it had been of no use to her.

It yielded zero helpful results, which pissed Darcy right the fuck off. She decided to risk getting in trouble with the Feds back in America by accessing the leaked SHIELD files. It required a little bit of surfing the Deep Web- which was kind of a scary and gross place, but a girl’s gotta do…

Her efforts were for naught- there was absolutely nothing she could find out about Jack from the little information he’d given her about his identity.   
Darcy cursed herself for being naïve and gave up. She randomly searched for “sexy brown locks of hair”, and “metal arm”- the former got her a lot of scary fetish porn (it was deep web after all) but the other…

She hated 4Chan, hated Reddit conspiracy theorists from the very depths of her bones- but Darcy delved in deep.

She took her precious clues- the painting, the metallic hand, the reference to “programming”- all desperate and not at all verifiable.

The threads were obscure, the references hard to corroborate- but eventually Darcy was able to formulate something of a theory- a ghost of one, really.

There was one picture that kept popping up- a man in all black Kevlar, carrying a huge gun of sorts. It was a cell phone image so the quality was far from HD, but it was clear enough to show a man with a mask- brown hair that was longish, though not as long as Jack’s, and not as light. The man definitely has a metal left arm- and the hand looked like Jack’s, but Darcy couldn’t zoom in enough to be sure.

Still, there was something about the man in the picture- his build was like Jack’s in a way- tall and strong, but not in an obvious way.

The image was from the fall of SHIELD- a fight between Captain America and an unnamed enemy- rumored to be an assassin, according to one guy named “SteveRogers2hot”- Darcy tried not to judge based on usernames but she had her doubts about the veracity of the user’s claims.

She went back to her SHIELD files and began to run a program searching for any matches for keywords “cybernetics”, “Hydra”, “Assassin”- shots in the dark, but they seemed to be linked to what happened on that day last May, when so much changed.

As her computer scanned the thousands of files, Darcy remembered watching the news that day- Thor had been shocked that his friend Steve hadn’t called him for help (it wasn’t like Thor had a cell phone for the poor guy to ring), but Darcy had understood. The helplessness was frustrating for someone who was so used to being in the thick of the action. It was the opposite of Darcy’s problem- she was completely out of her element when faced with a threat as big as the Destroyer or Malekith, and it left her feeling disturbed and afraid for months afterward as a result.

Her computer finally pinged, “SCAN COMPLETE”- Darcy eagerly scanned results. Nothing was of use to her, but one file made less sense than any of the others. It was a recruitment list from World War II, from the 107th infantry, US Armed Forces. None of the names meant anything to her- and that’s all it was, a list of names.

All the other files were of SHIELD science division prototypes- attempts to replicate Iron Man suit parts, some weird alien stuff that Darcy resolutely ignored (no more extraterrestrials for her).

The list had 35 names on it- the file contained a scanned-in page of handwritten names on what had to be a sign in sheet from the 1940s. Darcy, despite her sleepiness, read each name. There were two Jacks, one Jonathon, and a James.

There was a Jack Byrne, Jack Donnelly, Jonathon Castenado, and James Barnes.   
The last name ran a siren bell in her head, and Darcy immediately felt her hair stand on end.

She googled the name with a lot of trepidation, and clicked on the first google search link- the Smithsonian Museum Captain America exhibit, online edition.

Darcy didn’t have to read too much to understand who was sleeping on the bed next to hers.

“Shit. Shit shit shit on a stick.”

She cleared her browsing history (like it mattered) and thrust her laptop into her bookbag. All she wanted to do was crawl into bed and cry- what the fuck?  
What the ever loving actual fucking fuck was her life?

She glanced over at the snoring bundle to her left and internally argued with herself.

_Okay Darcy, relax._

_Maybe he’s a grandkid!_

_Or a great-grandkid…_

_Maybe it’s a coincidence!_

_But he has a metal arm… and he’s all scary muscley_

_So what?_

_So he’s probably who you think he is- what’s it matter?_

_I wanted to get away from this madness._

_I wanted to be free, I wanted to live a normal life!_

_How does this affect your normal life?  
I literally left Thor and Jane because I didn’t want to be the third wheel to their love of the ages, Norse God bullshit- and what do I walk into?_

_I need therapy._

_Yeah you do._

Darcy closed her eyes and counted to ten.

She wasn’t going to do a thing about this development. She was going to walk out- she flew out to LA in less than a week.

After completing the project, she was going to _quit_ a job that she loved and go back to Jane for the time being. She would find a new job, she would rebuild- and she’d get an apartment of her own, no risk involved.

" _Fuck, I really liked it here"_ was Darcy's last conscious thought before she drifted into a deep, dreamless sleep.

 


	5. The One Where Darcy Loses Her Damn Mind

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The chapter title says it all, so read on...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you like! And no, there is NO Steve/Darcy in this fic. Darcy's body and hormones just react inappropriately around that walking piece of ass.

Dealing with a traumatized, potentially geriatric World War 2 relic should have been the only problem in Darcy Lewis’ life that week. Figuring out how to quit a job she had just started might have also made the list of things to confront, but it was an easy fix.

Upon departing for her work related trip to the US, Darcy discovered the issues with working for a small, underfunded non-profit with terrifying rapidity.

Her business trip to LA was supposed to be a simple job- schmooze, find sponsors, drink some wine, and get out.

As it turned out, her luck was cursed from the start. As Darcy disembarked from her flight at LAX, she turned off airplane mode, hoping to call her mom to say she’d landed safely.

Immediately her phone began to vibrate, as she received text after text and email after email.

Eloise’s messages were the greatest in number so Darcy opened them first.

> _THE FUNDRAISER IS IN MIAMI <_

_> NOT LA< _

_> THEO FUCKED IT UP<_

_> YOUR NEW FLIGHT IS BOOKED AT LAX, GATE 5<_

_> HERE’S YOUR TICKET<_

Darcy opened the attachment and cursed as she jogged back to the security gate- her new flight to Florida was in 30 minutes.

“Fuck it all to hell.”

By the time she received her boarding pass and was in the waiting area, a headache had begun to form behind her eyes. The painful throbbing was really starting to bug her, so she let her mind drift to distract her from the discomfort.

Of course, her thoughts went straight to her weirdo 90-something year old roommate- yeah, she’d done the math.

If Jack Brown was really Bucky Barnes, then he was anywhere from 94 to 96 years old… and with that pleasant thought Darcy’s flight was announced for boarding.

Legs cramping from being seated for so long, her whole body protested at the cramped quarters of yet another flight.

(Theo was really going to need to figure out his logistical skills if he wanted NENA to take off)

Since she was too keyed up to sleep during the 5 hour flight, Darcy got out her journal and began to write what she was thinking.

As a coping tool, it was incredibly therapeutic, and an efficient way to sort out her thoughts.

_I share a room with someone who might be a Howling Commando, and also a Soviet Era Assassin who almost killed Captain America._

_He wants to protect me (his words) and I don’t know why._

_He has a metal arm and there are videos of him hurting people. He is strong. He trains. He runs. He is dangerous._

_I feel sorry for him._

_Do I talk to someone?  
Do I tell Captain America that his old BFF is my roomie?_

_And how the fuck did Theo mix up LA and Miami?_

With that slightly incredulous ending, Darcy shut her journal and ordered a tiny bottle of vodka.

It was gonna be a long flight.

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Miami was almost obnoxiously beautiful when Darcy got out of the taxi in front of her hotel. She grinned despite herself, as the sun warmed her airplane chilled skin. The palm trees were swaying in a pleasant breeze, and the scene was almost false in its perfection.

The hotel was nice too- Theo had booked her a really nice suite, possibly as a last minute apology for the mix-up from earlier. Her earlier irritation had faded as soon as she received a call from her errant boss, who apologized 12 times before Darcy could convince him that it was alright.

She was grateful that the charity event she was attending was still the one she had prepped for- Theo hadn’t gotten that detail wrong, at least. A very special church, called Santa Maria del Flores, had burned down in recent weeks in Miami. It was known for housing orphaned young boys who were at risk or even homeless. A group of philanthropists had gathered to raise money for the rebuilding of the church- and to marvel at a near-miracle.

A painting from the 15th century that had hung in the church for over half a century- made of completely flammable, aged old canvas and paint- had survived a fire that had nearly taken out an entire city block. They were auctioning off the painting in order to raise funds for the church.

Darcy was meant to circulate their organization’s name, give out some cards, and present the prewritten check of $5000 Theo had carefully entrusted to her before she’d left. It was an easy gig, with little to no work required.

Since that was the case, she indulged in a warm bath and some pizza that night. She was feeling emotionally worn, and quite shaken since the running incident.

As much as she liked to pretend that she was bulletproof- the truth remained that Darcy Lewis struggled to cope with things she could not control. She hated feeling helpless in the face of a chaotic situation- which was why she hated the Destroyer in Puente Antigua and the Dark Elves in London so much. She felt like she was suffocating when she couldn’t control even a part of the environment she was in- hence the life alteration had felt necessary to her.

And yet here she was, naked in a bathtub with cold pizza, feeling more lost than ever before. Darcy did NOT like feeling this way- hated it. She got out of the tub, dried off, and got into her comfy yet cute travel pajamas- aka duck jammies.

Turning on the tv, she watched a few episodes of _Dog Cops_ before turning off the lamp and settling in to sleep. She had a long morning and afternoon ahead of her, and the stress of the day had worn on her.

Before Darcy fully dozed off, her last thoughts were of her roommate- who had been oddly quiet when she’d told him of her trip.

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Darcy’s mission that morning was next to impossible- make herself look effortlessly wealthy and chic, with a very low budget. Eloise and a few other coworkers had taken her to an affordable boutique near their office, where she’d found a red cocktail dress that didn’t scream glamour but rather oozed it subtly, with an undertone of old money that Darcy rather liked.

All jokes aside, she knew she looked good in red, and she wore the lipstick to match. In her personal life, Darcy was very careful in what she wore and how she looked- she _never_ wanted to send the wrong message to someone, as her experiences in college and with Ian had shown her.

For work though? She was playing a role, something she was quite apt at. 

By the time her Uber driver pulled up to the front of the hotel, Darcy was transformed- from impoverished intern to professional powerhouse, she let the momentum of the role control her. She didn’t walk- she strode, confidently and far more at ease with her curves than she’d ever allowed herself in her normal life.

The concierge accepting tickets eyed her cleavage appreciatively three times during their 90 second encounter, which to Darcy was a good omen for the luncheon.

Before long, two men from a political campaign representing some senator were offering her canapes and champagne- pretty impressive for a girl who subsisted off Poptarts for a significant portion of her adult life.

Darcy managed to weasel into a conversation with the president of the campaign to rebuild the church, and flirted with him enough for him to ask for her card, which as of two weeks ago had NENA’s logo and name plastered all over it.

Mentally cheering herself, Darcy grabbed a fancy drink and sat down near the bar, eyeing the crowd before her.  
The majority of women attending the event could be divided into two groups- the competing charity sharks, much like her, and the wives/girlfriends of rich men. It wasn’t a pretty reality, but Darcy knew all too well the role politics and prestige played in the world of charitable giving and so-called “goodness”.

It was a lot like getting grants and funding for Jane, a thoroughly disillusioning experience and altogether unsatisfying for someone like Darcy who had thought that the world of science was purely driven by a desire for knowledge and research.

She was about to head to the restroom to check her hair when a familiar face caught her eye, and she nearly dropped her drink.

Without thinking, Darcy left her clutch on the counter and walked towards the man who absolutely could NOT be Agent Asshole from New Mexico over THREE years ago but there he was, balding and bland looking as usual- except Thor, the god of Thunder and actual Avenger, had told her that he was dead, at Loki’s hand, and maybe she’d shed a few tears if not a hundred over the fallen man.

She tapped on the shoulder of the beautiful woman he was dancing with (whose silver dress was the definition of killer) and asked, “I’m so sorry, but may I cut in?”

Darcy saw recognition dawn on Agent Asshole’s face (what was his name? Coleman? Coulton?) as his partner smilingly stepped away, allowing (aha!) Coulson to take her by the waist and lead her into an easy two step slow dance.

Without moving her lips, Darcy hissed, “Our mutual lightning friend told me you were dead!”

Without missing a beat, Coulson dipped her (he had a firmer grip on her waist than necessary) and replied “I can’t believe it’s really you! I thought you were in New Mexico!”

Attempting to match his spy-talk, Darcy replied “Nope! I happened to be with the fairies and elves in London last year, and now I’m in Paris working for a non-profit! But tell me about you?”

Coulson narrowed his eyes (which were surrounded with new fine lines and grooves- the man was the definition of _stressed_ ) and whispered, “Elves?”

“Yep! But really, explain your miraculous… recovery to me.”

Before Phil could reply, the woman in silver widened her eyes at him once and he immediately stepped away from their dance.

“I need to go. This didn’t happen, we never met, I am still dead! Nice to see you, Darcy.”

“Not so fast!” Darcy grabbed his wrist and held tightly.

“Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t tell Thor about you right now.”

Phil sighed and glanced around him before leaning into her ear, whispering “I had unfinished business, Darcy. I couldn’t die. Don’t tell Thor, because right now it’s a matter of life and death for a lot of people. Please.”

Darcy nodded and swallowed hard. He smiled tightly, and ran off with the woman in silver (whose dress really was sexy as hell). Phil Coulson wasn’t dead?

She left right after she handed her donation to the charity organizers, as a full on migraine began to form from all the mayhem in her mind.

Coulson wasn’t dead, which means that SHIELD had lied to Thor (quel surprise!) but the fact that Agent Asshole was active without the Avengers knowledge?

Shady, at best.

Outright insane, if she was being honest with herself. Darcy tried to understand but couldn’t, so she put it out of her mind until she got back to her hotel room.

As she hailed a cab to take her to her hotel, Darcy’s phone rang.

“’Allo Theo. Comment as-vous?”

“Ah, je suis desoleé Darcy! I hope the event was not a complete disaster?”

“No, not at all. I have video conferences lined up for you with three different organizations for next week. I’m emailing you the appointments when I get back to my hotel.”

“Darcy, you do not have to do that! You have one more day in Miami, go to the beach!”

Unease curled in Darcy’s gut as she swallowed, and quietly said, “I’m sorry Theo, but I have to resign from my position with NENA.”

“What?! Is this because of the tickets?”

Darcy saw an opportunity and took it shamelessly-

“Yes! I can’t work for a disorganized non-profit like this one, I’m sorry to say. I need order, calm!”

Theo sputtered, and threatened, but Darcy persisted. She did _not_ want to admit that her real reason for fleeing was a six foot tall man with a metal arm.

By the time she hung up, Darcy was unemployed. It felt a lot like free falling, except she wasn’t at all sure if she was going to make it to solid ground.

And her job… she’d _loved_ her job. She liked her office and Theo and the weird French press that made perfect coffee every morning. She liked fresh bread and red wine at lunch, the chance to see art and culture for the first time to in her entire life. Darcy hated leaving it all for some weird over-clingy dude, but she had promised herself- _promised_ herself that she would never let the chaos of SHIELD/Thor spill over into the rest of her life.

At the end of the day, she lacked the emotional stability to cope with superheroes and gods and evil villains- Bucky Barnes aka Jack Brown was all of that rolled up into one, absurdly handsome, ridiculously youthful package.

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Darcy spent her last day in Miami sunbathing. She was taking a Greyhound bus to New York City that night, which was one trip she was not looking forward to. Anticipating her move, Darcy had packed all her belongings and taken them with her, under the ruse that she was putting it in storage upon arriving in the USA.

Responsibility free for the first time since 2010, Darcy put on her bathing suit (a rather daring one piece that exposed more skin than she was used to) and set out to the nearest strip of beach at the seafront. It was a quieter morning, considering it was a Thursday, for which she was utterly grateful.

Laying out a towel from the hotel she was checking out of that night, Darcy spread a _liberal_ amount of sunscreen on her body, careful to protect her pale skin. The sun felt good on her skin, so she lay out for almost an hour, feeling the rays warm her. It was strange being so relaxed after weeks of adapting and stressing.

When she got hungry, Darcy bought herself a hotdog. After wandering the boardwalk for a while, she settled in a bar and ordered a drink. Sipping at it, she gazed out the window at the waterfront.

No matter how bad she felt about leaving behind her job, it wasn’t worth exposing herself to danger, and Bucky Barnes was definitely dangerous.

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“Jane, I told you. The bus will be at the station by noon today. It is 6 AM right now, and I am alone on a Greyhound. Please, for the love of Thor, let me sleep!”

Darcy flopped over onto the seat next to her, groaning as Jane prattled on about her excitement regarding her intern’s return. Said intern wasn’t quite so enthused at the prospect of returning to her old life- and though she hadn’t told Jane, Darcy had no intention of continuing her work with Jane.

She had sent a resume and CV to 3 different non-profit organizations in NYC, hoping that she could find some kind of relevant work. One of the organization had been the Maria Stark Foundation itself- a stretch, but maybe they’d want an employee with all of three weeks of practical experience?

Yeah. Right.

But it was going to be good, seeing Jane. And she missed American pizza, American accents, American beer.

It felt good to be back home, even under the circumstances.

And when she stepped off the stinky bus around 6 hours later, the sounds of car horns blaring and people chatting on their phones were like music to Darcy’s ears.

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Jane had the clingy grip of a small Capuchin monkey, so her hug with Darcy lasted 2 minutes more than what was socially appropriate.

They took a cab back to Jane’s apartment which was…. In Stark Tower. The little scientist had neglected to share that detail with Darcy (maybe Jane was more perceptive than Darcy had presumed), probably so she wouldn’t change her mind about staying with Jane.

Living at that tower seemed like the opposite of a good idea for a girl avoiding trouble. Superheroes lived at Stark Tower! Or Avengers Tower! Darcy didn’t know what to call it except a fucking disaster. Jane was grinning too hard to notice the glares she was aiming at her, so Darcy had to keep her fury to herself.

By the time the doorman was helping them with her bags, Jane had Darcy telling her all about her job and her coworkers (her anger at Jane disappeared just like it always did).

By the time they were settling her in the spare apartment next to Thor and Jane’s, Darcy was too busy admiring the view of the city skyline to think about her problems. Jane left her alone to go back to work, leaving her to unpack and rest.

Rather than opening her bags, Darcy flopped onto her new sofa and stared at the ceiling. Was she happy?

Rather than considering the thought, she took off her glasses and plugged her headphones into her iPod.

Four hours later, Darcy woke up stuck to the leather sofa. Disoriented and slightly sweaty, she peeled herself off the cushions and grabbed her overnight bag. Her phone told her that it was 5 PM, which told Darcy from past experience that Jane was in bed with Thor (who ensured that his lady followed a reasonable sleep schedule).

After a quick shower, she pulled on her most respectable sweatpants and Culver hoodie so she could explore the communal kitchen Jane had shown her during her less-than-stellar tour of the Tower.

A few wrong turns later she found the room in question. It was dim and quiet, so Darcy turned on the overhead lamp of the giant cooking range. It was just enough light for her to navigate the kitchen.

Ravenous from the hours of bus travel, Darcy grabbed a jar of tomato sauce from the fridge and some spaghetti from the pantry. After putting water on to boil and sautéing some garlic for her sauce, she sat at the bar and daydreamed. Her nap had left her out of sorts- it was that feeling of mild confusion that threw her off.  
Her water was bubbling so she added her handful of pasta. Then she turned her attention to the sauce, plucking a few leaves of basil from a selection of succulents growing in a pot on the counter.

The aroma of the food was making Darcy’s mouth water, so she decided to give in and taste her sauce.

“That smells delicious.”

The deep voice surprised Darcy enough that she choked on her mouthful of tomato sauce. Turning to face the source of the voice, she felt her knees buckle just in the slightest.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to surprise you!”

Darcy struggled to form words for one more minute before she let loose.

“Oh my god! Captain America!”

He smiled at her like she was an infant who’d just spit up her mashed peas, so Darcy tried again.

“Sorry, you just startled me. It’s pretty deserted, and I thought I was alone. You’re Steve, right?”

He nodded, and laughed. Darcy tried not to swoon at the sight of 6 feet and two inches of pure _man_ before her.

“It’s nice to meet you… uh, what’s your name?”

“I’m Darcy! I work with Dr. Foster- Jane, from the R&D Department? Dates Thor? God of Thunder?”

Steve’s polite smile widened into a genuine smirk and it made Darcy’s insides twist (he was seriously _so_ handsome what the fuck).

“Your reputation precedes you- Thor told me bout a girl who knocked him out with her stun gun once, named Darcy. Unless that isn’t you, in which case that never happened.”

“It was a taser, actually, and he was freaking me out! But yeah, Thor is kind of how I got sucked into this whole SHIELD mess.”

Steve laughed, and then he looked meaningfully at Darcy’s sauce.

“Oh, would you like to eat with me? I made plenty.”

With that, Darcy sat down for an early dinner with a living legend, who turned out to be a man of mysterious tastes.

It was the nicest time she’d had in the company of a man in a while, and that included Thor.

(He triggered a lot of anxiety in her, what with his crazy family and alien origins and whatnot)

When she returned to her apartment after cleaning up the kitchen, Darcy curled up in her bed and pondered her evening.

_“I grew up in Iowa. Life was preeeeeetty boring up till college.”_

_“Not for me. I was a bit of a trouble maker growing up, me and my best friend used to get down to all kinds of insanity when we were kids…”_

Did he mean Bucky?  
“Of course he means Bucky, idiot!”

And then the guilt set in.

Steve Rogers was literally the best man ever, according to legend, and he had pretty much lived up to it that evening. Plus, considering the fact that he was normal and did things like watch _The Voice_ (he said he thought Gwen Stefani was a classy dame), Darcy was even more inclined to like the man.

So should she spill the beans about her old roommate? Let him know that his best friend of 70 years was okay?

Darcy groaned and screamed into a pillow. She didn’t even have proof that she lived with the guy!

And then inspiration struck. Grabbing her charging phone, Darcy pulled up her screenshots in her image gallery. Scrolling frantically, she finally found the image in question- a captured screenshot of a Snapchat picture she’d sent her little cousin during her second week of living in France!

Darcy was making a funny fish face, which was not uncommon- and in the background was Jack, tying his sneakers!

His face was visible enough to be recognizable, and before Darcy could stop herself, she had asked the Stark Tower AI JARVIS where Steve Rogers was.

In less than ten minutes, Darcy was knocking on an apartment door with her heart pounding in her ribs.

Steve opened the door quickly, smiling.

“Darcy? Did you need something?”

“I need to talk to you in private _right now._ ”

“O-kay.”

Darcy nervously walked in and pivoted so she was facing Steve.

Without a word, she handed him her phone with the picture open.

Steve glanced at the photo once, squinted, and then he zoomed in on the background.

Darcy ground her teeth and twisted a strand of her hair, waiting for a response.

Steve quietly handed her back the phone, and spoke without looking at her.

“Who are you?”

The steel in his voice was unnerving enough to make Darcy want to cry.

“I told you exactly who I am. This wasn’t intentional- I literally went back to my apartment, and I remembered who you were and you talked about your friend and I realized I had to tell you right away! I had no idea who this guy was until about a week ago- and before then I’d just thought he was some strange guy I was boarding with. How was I supposed to know he was… like you?”

Steve finally looked up, and the bone tired expression on his face made Darcy wanna cry even more.

Without hesitating Darcy told Steve all that had occurred between her and “Jack”, leaving out only the most personal details.

“I swear on my life, I had no idea who he was, and no confirmation even when I did suspect. I only figured it out when I saw his metal arm- it’s not exactly subtle, and you know I had previous involvement with SHIELD. It might not even be him, Steve, but you had a right to know… to check.”

Darcy finally did burst into tears, and Steve awkwardly patted her shoulder as she struggled to get a hold of herself.

“Guck! Why am I even crying? You should be the one being upset, you’re the one who deserves to be going crazy right now.”

Steve rolled his eyes and chuckled.

“Seems like you’re really scared of this roommate of yours. I’m not going to jump to conclusions either- maybe it’s Bucky, maybe it’s not. But whoever he is, he seems dangerous. It’s worth investigation.”

Darcy sighed, and shook her head.

“You really are Captain America, you know that? All captivating and kind and self-sacrificing and shit.”

Steve threw back his head and laughed at that, clapping his hand to his left pec in a way that made Darcy wanna give him a hug (a prolonged, touchy hug).

Instead, she laughed too, and then went back to her apartment and cried some more.

It was confusing, stressful night.

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	6. Interlude for a Dream

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> James is visited by a mysterious stranger.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NOTE: This chapter is in first person ( I KNOW CRINGE ) but there's a purpose behind it I promise there is a reasoning <3

Her hour is the darkest of the night, when the streets are quiet and the children are long asleep. Skies are clear and the moon is opaque-white, shining borrowed light on cities and oceans alike.

Her time is short so she does not dally; she has purpose and agency, and the task at hand is too important to delay.

She soars, swiftly like a seabird through the quiet air. This is _her_ time because _she_ controls what happens- for a few short hours, at least.

That night, she is in Paris. It is an old city, as familiar as an ex-lover from the past. Ancient and yet nouveau, the city is a favorite of hers. Tonight, though, she is nervous.

Tonight she is helping someone who truly _needs_ it- whose life depends on it.

And this someone, this man, is a hero.

Existing for as long as she has, she rarely bestows the title of “hero” on any person- but he was one of her exceptions.

He didn’t even ask for her as many did- with sacrifices or prayers or tears at night.

She _heard_ him suffering from her domain, sensed his agony and pain in a way that cut her deeply.

After eons, it’s become her custom to ignore physical suffering, as she lived on a more spiritual dimension. But the universe has a way of leading her back to those who truly need her.

Thus, she finds her way to a brick boarding house, which charming, to be sure, but she doesn’t really notice.

She silently enters through a window on the third floor, into a hostel room. The room is completely dark but for a sliver of moonlight streaming through the faded fabric of the curtains, and there her purpose is, fast asleep in a cocoon of blankets and covers.

She assumes a form more familiar to the subject, of a girl. It is unassuming, but she has power and she will have to use it, tonight.

Without making a sound, she approaches the bed. Despite the thickness of his layered blankets, her subject- _James, a voice whispered in her ear-_ seems small and fragile to her. To be fair, most humans seem that way to her, but it didn’t matter.

 

This was a man plagued by dreams.

And she was a Dreamwalker.

 

* * *

 

_“Hello, James. May I join you?”_

In the silence of the night, quiet snores are her only answer.   
Taking it as assent, the Dreamwalker takes the dreamer’s hand in her own, and withdraws from her pocket a vial of powder. Taking a pinch of it between her fingers, she sprinkles it onto his eyelids. His long lashes flutter once, twice. They remain shut, and she breaths in relief.

Time to work.

James is washing clothes in the sink, and the sink’s in the apartment in Brooklyn- his and Steve’s.

The room is freezing cold, but the windows are open because he has clothes hung up to dry. Steve had rigged a line from one side of the room to the other, and every week Bucky hung damp clothes from it to let them dry.

His knuckles ache from the cold water, but the tap never ran hot in the winter, and he never has the patience to refill kettles of boiled water for the washing.

The shirt in his hands is a graying-white, too small to be his, making it Steve’s. He sees brownish stains under the collar- the punk had been fighting again, and damned if he’d hidden it from him this time.

Lighting a cigarette, he hangs the last of the clean clothes on the line. The room is small, and the bitter scent of tobacco fills the air as quickly as the smoke.

Sighing to himself over nothing in particular, he sinks onto their one wooden chair. Shutting his eyes to catch a wink before his shift at the docks that night, Bucky tries to relax his tired body.

_“This is a **very** good illusion. I didn’t know the Red Room taught defensive dreaming.”_

Bucky jerks up from his napping position searching for the source of the talking.

_“Oh, I’m sorry. Here, let me make myself more… visible.”_

The bodiless voice is attached to a girl.

“How did you get in here?!”

_“Oh James, this is brilliant! You’ve set up a real smoke screen for yourself here. I can see the edges of it, but you’ve really created a realistic dream as a front. Your psyche is incredibly vigilant, I will say. The Soviets really **do** think of everything.”_

James’ eyes narrow as he rises and approaches the girl, smiling in a way that terrifies him to his core.

“Lady… Miss, I don’t know who you are or what you’re talking about. I ain’t in no red room, there sure as hell aren’t any Soviets in my life, and you definitely appeared out of nowhere. You can either explain yourself or scram- I don’t fight ladies, but I have a feeling you ain’t a lady.”

  
The girl smiles genuinely this time.

 _“I’m here to help. You can fight me, but you can’t win darling. So just take a minute and light a smoke for me, will you?”  
_ “You’re a bit young for a smoker, eh?”

_“I’m as old as the earth this city was built on, James. Do not underestimate the power of age. Now, be a good man and shut your eyes for a moment.”_

He doesn’t, of course. Wasting no more time, the Dreamwalker pulls a pistol out of her pocketbook and fires it directly at James’ head. It explodes in a cloud of ash rather than blood, and she nods, reassured that she is correct.

This is _not_ his subconscious, but a cover up.

She grins to herself and shakes her head. HYDRA was damn innovative with their soldiers- she has to give them that.

 

* * *

 

It was dark in this dream. She could see, but just barely, as smoke and gunpowder polluted the air. It was outdoors- a forest, in Europe, and the Dreamwalker’s earlier mirth disappeared entirely.

She hated World War II- the Axis, the Allies, all irrelevant compared to the loss of life. It was a sheer waste and she had been glad to forget the horrors.

James hadn’t forgotten, clearly. This dream was murkier, with odd smudges in the environment that resembled finger smudges on glass.

This dream is realer- the Dreamwalker found James crouching in a shallow trench _(they will be captured, this she knows)_.

His face is ashen white, and his expressionless face is far more telling than she could have imagined.

She sniffs the air delicately- the iron-tang of blood is obvious, but beneath it are subtler scents.

The odor of fear is there, faint but persistent- salty sweat, foul excrement. Men lost control when afraid and at war.

James suddenly jumps out of his position and begins firing- she watches, interested as he takes out enemies visible to his eyes only.

There was a coldness in the way he kills Germans- she knows this battle, remembers its vibrations in the earth.

She forces herself to stop ruminating, though, and strides into the line of fire.

James lowers the gun instantly and drags her into the trench.

”What the fuck do you think you’re doing?! I’m FIGHTING! Stay down here!”

She lets him begin to stand, and then gently takes his ankle and yanks.

He crumples to the ground in pain and moans, cursing at her with murder in his eyes.

_“The real James Barnes cursed. I’m glad to know. But this is… cleaned up. You’re still hiding, boy.”_

His eyes widen in realization as she takes the rifle from him and aims carefully-

“No! DON’T! Plea-“

The blast clouds her vision for a moment, but the dust clears almost instantly.

 

 

* * *

 

She is no longer in a forest- she is in a white room. empty but for a bed, and stripped of any sheets. It is extremely cold, so cold she can see her breath puff out.

Suddenly two men in white grab her from behind- dragging her by her hair, and it _hurts._

_She hasn’t felt pain in a millennia, but there it is._

They strip her without lust in their eyes, and their touch feels sterile and mindless. She begins to feel disembodied, as she is laid out on a table like a patient being prepped for surgery.

Bright light is shined directly into her eyes, and she feels exposed- a novel feeling for the Dream Walker who is accustomed to shadows and night.

The light blinds her to the approaching figure, but she can sense malevolence. Her body responds with adrenaline and panic, as sweat gathers between her breasts and under her arms.

The unfamiliar sensation is too human for her- and she glances down to see her left arm a bloody, mangled mess. The shock hits her instantly and she feels herself tear up as pain replaces the high of fear and panic.

The sight of cartilage and her blood, _so much of her own blood_ makes her vomit, but she’s strapped down (when did that happen?!) and her mouth is being forced open with clamps and the puke is sitting at the back of throat and she’s gagging on it, choking-

So they stick a suction tube down her throat, sucking up the vomit and any remaining moisture from her mouth.

The pain is almost unbearable by then and she almost faints. A doctor appears in her line of vision, though he wears a mask and no expression. Without speaking someone hands him a buzz saw- and the Dream Walker is terrified for his- no, her life, and what is Steve going to do without her? Him?

Bucky? Who the hell is Bucky?

The buzz saw lowers onto the twisted arteries clinging desperately to his shoulder, and the Dream Walker screams aloud as she loses her arm and later, consciousness.

 

* * *

 

When she awakens, it is dim again. To her relief, she is clothed. The fabric is rough and unfamiliar, but she is glad to stand up and look around.

She is in the hostel room again- is the dream over? Has she failed for the first time?

The moonlight is different this time, though- its angle is wrong for the time of month and she realizes that Bucky Barnes is somewhere in the room.

For the first time she feels slightly afraid of the _other_ presence inside Barnes’ head- the Soldier.

She has no time to finish her thought as a vice-like grip encircles her wrist and yanks her into a chair.

“Who are you!? Why are you in here?”

The Dream Walker decides to respond in her own tongue.

_“I am here to aid you. Do not fear me- I am not the threat.”_

“The asset is not in danger?”

 _“What asset? Barnes? Are you talking about Bucky Barnes?”  
_ “Affirmative.”

_“Are you not him?”_

“I am no one. I am an asset.”

_“You no longer have an owner- a plaything without a toy is no longer a plaything, but an object, Jacques.”_

“Jacques is an identity the asset has assumed.”

_“I already knew that. Now, I’d like to speak with James. The real, in-the-present-day James.”_

“He’s unavailable.”

_“I’ll be the judge of that.”_

Harnessing her power, she switches places with James and binds him with restraints. The cold demeanor immediately fades and is replaced by a furious anger, with gnashing teeth and popping veins.

 The Dream Walker says nothing, but instead utters a prayer. Seeking guidance from those wiser than she, moonlight floats from the window and coats her hands like gossamer. James’ thrashings stop abruptly as she approaches and kneels before him. He tries to struggle but she shakes her head, and he ceases to move.

_Old ones, give me strength._

She places her hands on his temples, the touch of his fevered flesh disconcertingly human.

_Let me know what is right for this mortal._

“You are James Buchanan Barnes.”

_Let him realize the truth of his identity._

_Free him from his mental trappings, release him from the bonds forged by evil men._

“You have been brainwashed. Your mind is no longer your own, and you cannot access what defines who you are.”

_Let cool water run through his memories like a balm, let the wounds sting less._

“You are not a murderer. You were a weapon. And now, you are not. You are a man. Free, to do as he wishes.”

_I do not wish to remove his memories, but to ease the pain. Please, grant me this favor._

“I cannot do it without your consent, James. I cannot help you. Tell me I can help you.”

_Please grant him the strength to do right by himself._

James was crying silently- the tears of a child, with hiccups and sobs, and it almost makes the Dream Walker want to shed a tear herself- though she never has before.

He jerkily swallows his sobs and nods- once, twice- enough for her to stop talking and start working. Using her moonlight she pieces together the fragments of his mind, traversing the far distances of his mind to find memories hidden in the shadows.

It feels like hours, but mere minutes later she unbinds James from his chair, and lets him stand.

Hair hanging in his face, the Dream Walker cannot see if her work has succeeded. Bucky Barnes does not speak. He instead walks to his bed and falls onto it. She fears he has died, but rumbling snores reassure her that she is mistaken.

Reassuming her non-corporeal form, the Dream Walker leaves through the window. The moon is fully out by then, and she watches it longer than she normally does- she has watched it set and rise for centuries without change.

Once she was a girl who had watched the moon with a lover with brown hair.

He had kissed her hand and placed a flower behind her ear.

She had smiled.

 

 


End file.
